“It’s killin’ me, doc, you gotta do something,” says the man on the telephone troubled by unsolicited agony. “I’m dying here, this pain . . . is wearing me out.” Understandably, this particular gentleman is not one to be unduly distressed by suffering, in his specific line of work he is usually its provocateur.
“I have an opening next Friday, Mr er . . .?” says the man on the other end of the line.
“FRIDAY, you kidding me! I need it sorting now – I can’t stand it much longer, it’s driving me crazy – so deal with it?” he mumbles fiercely, thrusting out a command more than a request as he paces up and down the hallway of his house, holding a palm to the side of his face, gripping the telephone with an iron hand, hoping the ache might subside.
“What’s the problem?”
“What’s the fuckin’ problem?” screams the man, abruptly coming to a standstill in the corridor, the irritation evident in his garbled tone. “You serious? Haven’t I just said? Are you deaf, or something? Not listening to a damn word I say? I busted a tooth on an olive and it’s givin’ me some serious grief, doc.”
“I’m sorry and I understand, but that’s the best I can do.”
“No, no, no – it’s not. You better listen real good.” He holds the telephone closer to his mouth, like being nearer to it would make a difference, his grip intensifies, his free hand smacks hard against the wall in anger, like punching a shadow of the man on the other end of the line, who’s being difficult and unsympathetic.
“There are emergency dentists, courtesy of the NHS, I can give you their numbers, if you like?”
“You’re not getting the drift of what I’m saying, are you?” His insistence is becoming increasingly annoying for the dentist who looks down at his appointment schedule, where there are no gaps in the database.
“I’m sorry, sir . . . I have nothing available.”
“Oh yes, you fucking well better. Cancel your God damn appointments, right now.” says the man with his mouth all twisted up, trying to find a gap in the cycle of pain to breath freely. “I’m on my way and if I don’t get sorted, good and proper in the next hour, then I promise I’ll be giving you a world of pain like you’ve never felt before . . . you understand me?” The line suddenly clicks and goes dead, leaving nothing but white noise. The man holding the receiver grunts, slams it back on its cradle and heads towards the door, moaning as the aching in his mouth reaches a crescendo, he stumbles, grabs a bookshelf for support that rips out of the wall and crashes to the floor, scattering aged books across the parquet tiles. “Jesus,” he cries, holding the side of his jaw, as the pain suddenly feeds into his eyeballs. He closes his eye lids tight fearing his eyes might explode at any second.
The angry man sits restlessly in the dentist’s chair, the glare of the overhead lights reflecting in his eyes, a nervous tic erupts above his left eyebrow as the dentist approaches with a syringe containing an unknown liquid. The protruding needle shines like an instrument of torture in the glimmering lights, as it gets within spitting distance of the man’s open jaw. He dreads its presence, cannot understand the nature of its existence, it looks too long and industrial to fit inside his mouth.
“Have we met before?” questions the dentist, puzzling at the vague familiarity of the ugly battered face of the stranger, seated in his treatment chair. The prone man says nothing, his eyes glued to the syringe hovering close by his sweating brow. “I have to say that . . .” The dentist’s tone is harsh, overpowering, as he fumbles with the syringe in his hand, “that I was not happy with your intimidation on the telephone. I’m not swayed by unpleasant demands. It maybe your modus operandi, sir. But I will not tolerate threatening tactics.”
The customer’s face turns red with abject anger, the pain in his jaw indescribable. “I don’t give a shit what you think, you’re a dentist, do your job, sort this tooth out and I’ll be on my merry way – is that clear to you?” he says with a twisted sneer, raising his head slightly off the leather seat to make his point. “Get it done and no fuck ups, okay?”
“Oh, I’ll get it done, sir, you mark my words.”
“What the hell does that mean?” he questions abruptly, pulling himself up onto his elbows as the sharp needle pricks the side of his neck. “What the fuck is that?” he shrieks as the room quivers and blurs into empty grey, as the TV above his head plays a merry jingle about fairtrade chocolate and his eyes and ears close and he slumps helplessly back down onto the dentist’s couch.
“Oh yes, the problem is very clear to me now,” says the dentist as he peers into a mouthful of unsightly tombstone teeth, stained from years of ill use and cigarette smoke. “We’ll soon sort that, be an absolute delight.” He looks around for his assistant. “Prepare the instruments please, Mavis. We have some significant work to do with this gentleman. We wouldn’t want him to suffer now – do we?” He wedges the shiny mirror into the gaping yaw of the unconscious man’s mouth as Mavis lowers her head to get a closer look, but says nothing, her hand resting gently on the dentist shoulder. “Such a mess, isn’t it?” he says with a frown, then squeals with a frenzied giggle.
The man laid out unconscious on the couch dreams. The hands of the clock, resting on the wall tick by quickly, the minutes pass as the dentist skilfully applies his trade. Arms weave and turn in strange motion, as if he’s conducting an orchestra. Mavis trades instruments as he executes plain instructions, the clatter in the room excessive as the metal tools come and go and perform their magic. The stranger hears and feels nothing, he’s lost in a sea of calm memories, walking with friends, combining vocal pleasantries with attributes of physical connection. He knocks on doors, demanding favours, kisses the heads of small babies as parents recoil in horror and disgust. An unconscious smile of pleasure tightens the man’s mouth as the dentist tugs and heaves to complete his work. Mavis closes in, looks at the dentist in admiration, then tactically removes the build-up of blood and material clustered against the customers jawline with a device that sucks and slurps like it enjoys every minute of its hideous task.
The eyes of the stranger open briefly, he feels pain in his face, not just his teeth, everywhere. There is something else, he’s unable to move, wants to touch his face, but can’t reach it.
“Wakey, wakey, no time for sleeping on the job, we got things to discuss?” The dentist leans in close, whispering in his customer’s ear. Slap, the open hand whips the man’s head to one side from the blow. He winces, but feels no pain as streaks of blood wash into the air. A sleepy expression of hate flitters across his features, a hasty realisation the smack was anything but friendly.
“Wha, the fuc …“ The ugly man splutters, like he’s in a drunken fugue, his tongue and lips frozen, unwilling to connect with his vocal chords. “What’s, go . . . ing, on . . . ?” He tries to raise his arms, defend himself from further blows, he peers down the length of his body slowly, his nervous system almost unwilling to accept the command. His wrists and ankles are fastened tight to the seat, he’s not sure what’s holding them, his eyes refuse to function clearly.
The dentist draws up a chair and sits down calmly next to his customer. Mavis, his assistant is cleaning instruments, then lazily inserts a pod into a coffee machine neatly tucked away on a nearby table. “You know,” he says, as he crosses his legs and leans back into the seat, lacing his hands tidily over his stomach. “We have met before.” The dentist employs the words as a statement of fact, an ice breaker that moves the half unconscious man’s eyes to search out the sound “It took me a while to remember. You see I was only young, maybe ten or twelve when you came to our house, late one night. You scared me, Mr Lloyd – that is your name – right? And boys of that age shouldn’t be scared, they should be carefree and unsettled by very little, because life hasn’t corrupted their little minds yet. And that is why, why I remembered, you scared me rigid with your presence. I tried to hide, but the paralysis was overwhelming, rooted me to the floor. You terrorised my mother with threats and aggravation. Do you know that, remember that, even care? No, I guess not in your line of work, just another daily task to complete.”
Lloyd twists his wrists, pulls hard as he lies prone on the couch, attempts with all the strength he can muster to unbind the ties that hold him rigid. He moans, growls like a wild animal, writhes against the structure of his capture, but it has him secure, all he can do, he knows is listen and respond. “Your moth – er, why would I know that b – b – itch?” he mumbles and stutters the words, the numbing effects of the Lidocaine beginning to ease, the pain in his gums increasing as the minutes pass. There appears to be something wrong with his mouth, he can’t work it out, the fog of the general anaesthetic clouding any sense of positive reality. The taste of blood overwhelming, like an oily slick in his mouth, he spits and gags as the stream of foul-tasting liquid drips down his chin and gets sucked into his throat as he breathes.
“A little help there, Mr Lloyd? Mavis, if you please?” She puts down the instruments in her hands with a clatter that breaks the silence. The dentist looks at her, irritation on his face. “A wipe, to clean his face maybe, we don’t want the man to suffer any more than required do we?” He hesitates briefly, thinking. “That cup of coffee would provide a splendid interval, I think, Mavis, if you please?” requests the dentist suddenly leaning forward, sitting upright in his seat to address Lloyd. “Columbian, an exquisite bean, grown in the Andean mountain region,” he says in an arrogant tone that reflects his intellect. “But that knowledge would be lost on you, wouldn’t it, useless trivia, of no value or purpose.” Frank Lloyd grunts like a child winded in a play fight, the notion of the conversation obscure, it does nothing to ward off the overwhelming fear something is drastically wrong. There are gaps, where there should be teeth and something else that does not register, he feels his tongue might not be relaying the truth, the numbness still evident, bending the facts.
“Suffering and pain, a part of your routine, isn’t it? A never-ending cycle of hurt on the foolish and ill-prepared.” The dentist rises from his seat, sets down his cup on a table to his left and walks around the prone man on the treatment seat. He notes the bloody drool on his expensive white shirt, that will never wash out, the slight shake of his body as the adrenaline withdraws from his system, the sudden realisation in his eyes, he is a prisoner trapped in a world of pain he never anticipated. Lloyd has no words he can draw on, the pain in his mouth leeching into the corners of his cerebral cortex, destroying his sensations of normality.
The dentist continues his walk around the man in the centre of the room, thinking aloud as he patrols. “Mother was naïve, stupid in fact, but I guess when there are limited options, you tend to view any probable solution in an optimistic way, wouldn’t you say? Which is why, when all normal routes have been exhausted, she ended up at the door of your dubious organisation.” Lloyd’s eyes squint, his bloody mouth hangs open, the pain intense, almost unbearable. The dentist continues to circle the room, his right hand under his chin, pensive in thought. “Now, they have their place granted, and that’s not a reflection, or indeed a judgement on your endeavour or existence. What is, however, is the methodology of your approach, the workplace brutality you willingly inflict on the vulnerable. My case in point, I might add, is you lying here on my couch feeling the wrath of a passive human being.” The dentist stops and faces the nervous man lying on his back against the comfort of the black leather, patches of sweat expanding under his arms and across his brow and cheeks. “Pain relief?” he can see the man is suffering. “Would that help you? Being a kind-hearted soul, myself, and free of expressed cruelty, I can administer that.” He turns to Mavis, the question of sympathy evident in his expression. “What do you think? Is it appropriate, that we care about his wellbeing, considering what we’ve achieved to ease his burden today. After all, we are not animals and malice to a fellow human being is not something I can condone. But your choice, my dear?”
Mavis turns to face the burning recognition and hatred, she sees, in the eyes of the man trapped on the dentist’s treatment seat in front of her. She grunts and nods her head wildly, anger evident in her fierce expression, her grey hair swirling around her shoulders.
“I would guess that’s a defining no then, Mr Lloyd. Apologies, but I only felt it right to ask the lady present.” His assistant nods in agreement, swiftly turning back to her cleaning work, a mass of instruments coated with blood and spittle and places them gently into the autoclave, closing the door to start the cleansing process. The dentist takes his seat again, picks up his coffee cup and quietly sips the cooling liquid. “Best part of the day, Mr Lloyd – don’t you agree? Time to reflect, gather ones thoughts with a refreshing brew?”
Lloyd murmurs dissatisfaction in the judgement, his eyes move rapidly from side to side, he contemplates his entrapment, surveys any possibility of escape. There is none, his hands and feet are securely tied with several heavy cable ties. “Let me go, right now,” he begs, appealing for sympathy, “and I swear I’ll not kill you,” His throat constricts with the inflow of blood, he coughs as it trickles and affects his breathing. The dentist sniffs quietly to himself, raises his head in a hidden laugh as he snidely appreciates his captives discomfort and quickly glances across to Mavis. She misses the cue, her mind intent on differing tasks.
“What did I do, to you?” Lloyd mumbles, the syllables stutters from his mouth as he looks at the dentist, the sweat from his brow running in tiny rivulets down his cheeks. There is an angle he cannot understand – the whys and wherefores of his predicament, the mystery of the day’s trauma.
“Scarred me for life, probably? I’m not akin to discretionary fear, Mr Lloyd – I survived that night, granted, managed to put it all behind me, like a memory lost in a cloud of fog. But today, you coming back into my life brutally opened that wound again.”
“But why?” The scream of words is intense, his bony wrists rattle against the frame of the seat as the man thrashes against the black leather, defiant of his confinement.
“Mother.” The dentist pulls a photograph from his wallet and thrusts it into the bloody face of Lloyd. “My mother,” he points dramatically at the picture, anger on his face, dribble on his lips. “And you destroyed her – like the indifferent bastard you are – and the devil in me will make sure you never forget the hurt you caused that woman, the suffering that tore her apart.”
Lloyd screams with a lisp, his tongue escaping through a bloody gap in his jaw line, as the words spill out. “I collect. It gets done – one way or the other, no fucking about. So what do you want from me?”
“Recompense, not revenge,” the dentist says with a light chuckle. “That’s all.”
“For what,” Lloyd cries. Blood sprays from his mouth as he speaks, tiny droplets misting the air red as his tongue delves the cavities, as he gasps in shock at what he senses, his tongue tracing the geography of his gums. Panic forms in his head, he cannot see the damage. He writhes on the treatment seat, bouncing in agony from one side to the other, screaming obscenities, he almost crashes to seizure as the reality of his captivity grips him like a vice. “You barbaric bastard. What have you done to me?” He breaks down like an angry child, teeth gone, holes across his jawline the size of saucepans, burning anxiety. Lloyd suddenly knows, a trapdoor of remembrance tears open and the truth of his compliance is plain to see.
“Call it justifiable scarring, tit for tat. You got your pound of flesh and so do I.” The dentist adjusts the back of the treatment chair holding Frank Lloyd, moves it into the upright position, the man there pulling at his binds, breathing heavily, snarling, almost slipping into shock, as he continues to cycle his head, side to side, attempting to ease the jarring pain he feels as the anaesthetic continues to wear off.
In a sudden moment of calm Lloyd yells out. “Your mother had the cash, so it needed to be repaid, that was the deal. She missed the deadline, my employer is strict about that – there has to be consequences?”
“I understand that, Mr Lloyd. Unfortunately, you are also the recipient of my consequences. You came here looking for help, viewed this establishment as a haven for comfort and relief from your debilitating pain. How wrong you were and these are the reasons why.” The coffee cup slides across the table as the dentist picks it up and continues its consumption, the cooling liquid performing its task of bringing joy as the man sits back down near the upright body of his hostage. He leans in and whispers, eyes quickly glancing towards his assistant, as though there are secrets withheld, not for her ears. “The truth is,” he says shaking his head, pulling a sour face. “I accept that. You had a right to collect. But . , .” He slams the empty cup back on the table, in anger. It rattles in its saucer and falls to one side, accepting defeat in its ability to stay upright, “not without consideration of circumstance. She wanted more time, you denied it. She wanted assistance to fulfil the requirements of the deal – you, Mr Lloyd denied it and those outcomes drove her to the edge of insanity,”
“That ain’t my problem. A deal is a deal and she didn’t deliver.” The words are strained, there is no empathy in there authenticity, just function and resentment.
“Accept your fate and you can go – a free man.” The dentist sighs, the pressure in his thoughts released. “One final, overwhelming condition though, to be explained later, but first the factors, Mr Lloyd. The conditions that brought us to this extraordinary point in your miserable life.” The dentist spins around in his chair. “A mirror, if you please, Mavis.” She reaches across, into her handbag and pulls out a small compact mirror and hands it to her employer, who opens it quickly and points it at the face of his captive. The realisation in Frank Lloyd’s eyes is extreme, shocking, filled with hatred to destroy the man with the mirror. The reflection, in the glass, of his blood red mouth as he attempts a smile is unbearable to see, he turns away, it sends a tremor through his body as the dentist tries to wipe away globs of darkened gore from Lloyd’s lips and chin with a tissue held in his other hand.
“You’re fucking crazy, what the hell is this? Lloyd says fiercely, spitting blood as he screams. “I’m gonna rip you apart, piece by piece when I get off this seat.” The venom in his voice straining the muscles to breaking point around his throat.
The dentist lays the mirror down onto the nearby table and leans back into the seat, clasps his hands across his lap, smiling proudly like he’s achieved first prize in some nationwide event. “Firstly, you took her dignity. She was a proud woman with unshakable values – so I took a lower incisor – a front tooth – in payment. Secondly, you took her integrity, destroyed her honesty and trust of human beings – so I took another – in payment. You starting to see the sequence now? Because this is the only way to save your soul. Mother was a church goer, defined by the scriptures where Jesus preached the mantra ‘love thine enemies’ and she endorsed that, Mr Lloyd, not bearing you an ounce of ill will. The readings also state, ‘leave justice to God.’” The dentist laughs with guttural intent and stamps his feet on the floor like a petulant child having a tantrum. The captive attached to the treatment seat growls and moans in hatred and suffering split into equal measure. “Funny that, as a statement, isn’t it? You either believe or don’t to the presence of some almighty creator that shapes our lives. Do you, Mr Lloyd, believe or consider the possibility of some omnipresent master watching our every move?” A singular clap of hands registers around the room, Mavis turns to look at the disturbance, her face unmoving, stoney, the noise is all that drives her attention towards the dentist, wildly cavorting in his seat as his mind dances in unsullied adrenaline. “I thought not and neither do I. But today I am your personal God, Yes I am, and I will watch over you, embrace you in my love and endeavours to send you down a righteous path to your salvation . . . Amen.”
Frank Lloyd is on the verge of tears, the recognition, like a solid blow to the head with a hammer that the dentist is clearly a madman, lost in his own vendetta of historic resolution. “It was my job, for Christ’s sake,” he bawls.
The dentist pokes a finger at Lloyd. “Exactly – your cross to bear – right?” He settles back down into his seat, thinking. “Where was I?” he says frowning. “I remember. Thirdly, you took her self-respect, that important facet of moral fortitude and belief in ones being – so I took an upper incisor – in payment, of course.” He giggles slightly and moves closer to Lloyd’s ear to make sure nothing is lost in the air between them. “And lastly, I have taken the remaining upper incisor, but you know that, can feel the tooth sockets, the hideous bloody holes that extraction leaves behind and that is because you took her life.” Frank Lloyd gasps as the impact of the words enter his mind, he cannot wipe the tears from his eyes with shackled hands, there is a sob as the macho bravado turns to sympathy. “I had no idea,” he blurts with iron tinted breath as the blood trickles endlessly down his chin and onto his heavily stained shirt.
“Of course not, why would you – even care?” The dentist lifts his arms into the air in mock celebration, waving them excitedly. “It was your job. Whoop, Whoop – aren’t you a proud man for terrorising a God-fearing woman to abandon her life, for a few measly grand when you had the capacity for human kindness and empathy to protect a vulnerable person. Shame on you for not having the foresight to protect the most important creature on this earth . . . a female, the actual creator of life, a mother. I guess even you had a mother, Mr Lloyd?”
A heavy breath escapes from the dentist’s mouth, he’s happy with his accomplishments, never thought the day would be so intense, so regretful in taking another man’s misdemeanour to fulfil his own crime of passion. After all, he ponders as he reaches for his empty coffee cup, this is not the kind of destruction a peaceful man should undertake, but purpose breeds devilment in the innocent mind. His cup refilled, he sits back down, gently sipping the dark bitter brew. “Mmmm,” he murmurs softly as the liquid travels across his tongue. “You do understand, Mr Lloyd, I’m not endowed to revenge as playful enterprise, quite the opposite, It’s just that you provided an opportunity I couldn’t resist. Recompense, it’s a verb and to quote, its meaning is simple. ‘To give compensation, payment, or a reward to someone as amends for a wrong, injury or loss.’ There, my sermon is complete, so you should now understand the gross dissatisfaction I have with the service you provided to my mother, But, I have not finished my explanation?” Frank Lloyd shuffles madly on the treatment seat, pulling at the cable ties that rip his flesh as he tries to forge an escape.
“You bastard,” he says with a tremor and sob in his voice, his head lolls to one side in defeat and disgust at his predicament. “My teeth. What did you do? These points?” He parts his bloody lips in a wasted grimace of a smile, the front teeth are gone, those adjacent disfigured, the sharpness rupturing the fragility of his tongue.
“Now shush, this cry baby talk is making me emotional. I aim to be strong, Mr Lloyd. You can see that, right?” The dentist sits up, clasps his hands under his chin and looks deep into the sad eyes of his captive. “Ah yes, that work, not quite the piece de resistance, that is to come, but bear this thought in mind when I say you habitually gorge on the threads of human misfortune. That’s your right, your job, you say, so you are a vampire, Mr Lloyd, you suck the life from the living and I have made that task easier by sharpening your canine teeth to simplify the undertaking – that carnivorous munching of flesh you find so exquisite?”
The reflection in the stainless-steel tray from the overhead lights is intense as the dentist mulls over the unused tools of his trade. He looks at Lloyd sat upright in the treatment seat and feels some guilt as he surveys the destruction of the man’s smile, it’s raw, bloody, disfigured and bloated. It’s speculative for several seconds, then the thought passes. “You, Mr Lloyd look at these things here.” He stops talking and parades the instruments under the man’s nose for inspection, then places them back onto the table. “As potential tools of pain and corruption, but you are wrong, The drill, the scalpel, the tooth files, are all devices to enhance a smile, increase self-confidence, remove pain, but for you, my sympathy for care and understanding was completely absent.” Lloyd stares back horrified, anticipating the next session of pain is only seconds away. “But, my work here is done, the job complete, my instruments can be detained until the next customer arrives,” the dentist says with a nod of satisfaction as he looks around to his assistant Mavis, who pulls another stack of clean instruments from the sterilising machine. “You are free to go, there are no further charges, your debt to us repaid in full – we have a clean sheet, so enjoy the rest of your time on God’s green and pleasant land.”
The ties holding Frank Lloyd shake and grind, rupturing the skin of his wrist further as he tugs for freedom. “It ain’t over, no way, you hear me?” he screams as the dentist approaches with a pair of cutters, clacking them open and shut as he walks. “Your face will be God damn pulp, when I’ve finished with it,” he snorts with a spirited lisp, spitting droplets of blood through the gap in his messed-up jawline.
“Your renewed purpose is no surprise to me, Mr Lloyd, I did expect your epiphany to disappear as quickly as it came.” He cuts one of the cable ties holding Lloyd down and throws the tool into his lap. The man swiftly grapples in the air with his freed hand to try catch the dentist unaware. “Reverting to type, a wild dog on its leach, wanting to bite, kill even, seek revenge for damages inflicted. Well, we anticipated that. Didn’t we?” Mavis moves closer, she grunts in agreement, a brief unnatural smile spreads across her mask of a face, the bright overhead lights exposing the deep ragged scar around her throat. “The piece de resistance, is waiting to play out, Mr Lloyd. It was mentioned earlier, you may recall?” The dentist sniggers, puts an arm around the woman next to him and kisses her on the cheek in a rare show of affection and compassion. “We have to protect the Lord’s most treasured creation, isn’t that right, mother?” She nods, touching her son on the face with a delicate hand as they walk backwards to the far wall. Lloyd swiftly cuts the remaining ties around his ankles and wrist with ease and launches himself from the treatment chair sending the instrument table and the displaced coffee cup and saucer flying across the room.
“Now for my pain,” the man cries, shaking his head, cracking the bones in his neck, stretching his stiffened limbs with a growl as he moves forward to hunt down the dentist, sheltering against the wall protecting the woman by his side. A subtle crack of glass filters through the air, almost unnoticed, against the chaos and raging anger in the room. The dentist and his mother look at each other and smile, the room goes eerily silent. Sudden jarring pain in the sole of Lloyd’s right foot stops him in his tracks, he falters, eyes shocked wide, bloody mouth hanging down as explosive terror bursts into his head. He crashes to the floor, white froth bubbling, dripping from his toothless jaw. Lloyd gasps for air, his hands clawing his neck, as he lies curled up on the floor, like a child in the womb, trembling, seizing in the last few moments of his life.
“Well, that’s a little unexpected?” says the dentist with slight disappointment, his face all screwed up in surprise. “Didn’t get the chance to tell Mr Lloyd, did we, about his possible sudden and painful death with that nasty toxic substance?” The dentist peers down to the grotesque body of his captive, lying dead, his face a blood splattered mask, staring sightless eyes, with fingers and thumbs tight around the skin of his neck grasping for salvation. “Our big secret, something we hid. but you never had a chance, did you, Mr Lloyd? The game was over before it even began? So it’s bye-bye real world and hello Satan and the gates of hell, the terminal reward for your endless sins.” The dentist ponders, takes a breath to clear his mind and steps away from his mother. “All in a day’s work, eh? Another satisfied customer. So who’s next?” The laptop in front of the dentist bursts into life as he pounds the keyboard searching for the name of the next client. He pauses, looks around, sees the insidious smile of the woman by his side. “Ah, Mr Acton Brown. You don’t know him, by any chance, do you, mother?”
Jonathan Peach 5th October 2026
